Some wounds never heal right. Some goodbyes never come. Some people never apologize. Life doesn’t always tie up with a bow, but I have been around long enough to know that you can’t wait around for closure.
You’ve got to move forward...
...sometimes limping, sometimes laughing, but always forward.
I've buried parents, been divorced and had my heart busted up a few times. I got laid off when the floor started it's decline. I've watched the Shepkids go through things I wish I could have shielded them from. I could have let that stuff cement me in place. Instead, I chalked it up, took the hit, and kept walking. That is how my dad taught me. Lower your shoulders and barrel through.
Now that I’ve acknowledged the heavy, let’s pivot to my admiration for hotdogs.
Because it is National Hot Dog Day and that is holy ground in Chicagoland.
Everyone knows my stand: no mustard?
You’re out of order. Ketchup? That’s a felony.
Nothing hits like unwrapping a steaming Chicago style dog. A Vienna beef packed into a poppy seed bun with yellow mustard, neon relish, chopped onions, tomato wedges, sport peppers, pickle spear, and a sprinkle of celery salt.
It’s art. It’s attitude. It’s home.
Some days called for a curveball. Back at the Board of Trade, I’d get a slaw dog from the cafeteria lady. Big beef dog buried under a mountain of that crisp slaw they did just right. That’s another form of closure ... switching it up and still feeling whole. We also have the other option of a depression dog every once and awhile.
The hotdog has been with me from the start. Mom cutting up hot dogs on a plate while Bozo the Clown played on the TV. Saturday drives with the Oldman discovering new stands around Chicago. Taking the Shepkids to those same spots a generation later. The hotdog tells the story of my life better than most photo albums.
If there is any closure that I believe in...
... it is the first messy bite of a proper hotdog. When I walk through the gates of heaven, I’m convinced the first thing I will see is a stand, maybe I’m behind Socrates or Sophia Loren in line.
That’s fine.
I’ll wait.
Heaven’s got time and the dogs are always fresh.
Do yourself a favor and take a drive this afternoon. Go find your favorite hotdog stand. Take that astonishing bite and find the kind of closure we all deserve.
